


Post-Election Mystrade Cuddles (because we all need it right now)

by wendymarlowe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: American election fix-it fluff fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8511391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: I spent the evening watching election coverage and I'm so damn tired, y'all. I needed some sweet fluffy fic to feel better. Here's Mycroft's reaction to the American election and Lestrade offering him a foot rub and snuggles.





	

Mycroft was lying on the sofa when Greg walked in the door. Even if Greg hadn’t heard the news on the radio on the way home, that would have been a dead giveaway. The fact that he didn’t respond to Greg’s half-hearted greeting was another.

“I heard,” Greg said quietly, lifting Mycroft’s stockinged feet up so he could slip underneath them and prop them in his lap. “She lost, didn’t she.”

“Bloody xenophobic Americans.” Mycroft didn’t move his disappointed stare from where it was burning a hole in the ceiling above them, but he did allow Gregory to shift the two of them about so they were both more comfortable. “I’m still in the middle of untangling the whole Brexit debacle and they go and do this. I know most people don’t care to be informed about political issues before exerting their will on their government, but today’s election was a new low.”

“How were the polls so wrong?”

Mycroft sighed. “It should perhaps be unsurprising that people are more willing to express unpopular views in private - and at the voting booth - than they are when asked directly. In this case, the view that Muslims are dangerous and women are unfit for leadership and the idea that apparently being a narcissist and a compulsive liar aren’t disqualifiers for the American presidency. Same way Brexit polls undercounted racism here.”

“Ah.” Greg peeled the sock off Mycroft’s left foot and set to rubbing his thumbs firmly up and down the arch. Mycroft drew in a deliberate deep breath and relaxed slightly into the sofa. “You know I love you, right?” Greg asked.

A hint of a smile danced around Mycroft’s lips. “It’s mutual, _sweetheart.”_

“Oi, don’t even.” Greg pressed a little harder, reveling in the way Mycroft’s eyes drifted shut. “Not smart to rag on the man giving you a foot rub, you know.”

“Sorry,” Mycroft murmured, and wriggled his toes. “Stock markets are in freefall right now and I won’t be able to even begin a plan of action until they stabilize. I hate uncertainty.”

“Welcome to the life of us ordinary mortals.”

“Probably going to have to be out of the country for at least the next two weeks because of this.”

“So we’ll take advantage of the time we have.” Greg finished Mycroft’s left foot with a little squeeze and moved on to his right. “If you can’t do anything until tomorrow and you know you’re going to be racing around North America for the foreseeable future, think I can persuade you to come to bed?” He lifted Mycroft’s foot and kissed the pad of his big toe. “Not that I’m expecting sex - I can tell you’re knackered, even if you don’t want to admit it - but I could use a good cuddle right now and I bet you could too.”

Mycroft squinted up at him. The man really did look adorable like this, drained and washed-out and ten years older but vulnerable too. Greg was insanely flattered that he was the only person on the planet Mycroft trusted enough to let his guard down this far. “Was just waiting for you,” Mycroft murmured.

“Well then.” Greg dumped Mycroft’s feet off his lap, then helped Mycroft up. “Let’s go up and brush our teeth, yeah? And then you’ll leave your phone on silent except for Anthea’s number and we’ll keep the television off and we can just hold each other for a while.”

They prepared for bed in parallel silence. Greg stripped down to his pants; Mycroft pulled on a soft pair of pajama trousers. Greg claimed the chance to be the big spoon - when Mycroft was like this, he always appreciated being held more than being the one doing the holding.

“Sleep,” Greg whispered in Mycroft’s ear. “The world will still be collapsing in the morning. I’ll give you up then - but for now you’re mine.”

Mycroft snuggled closer in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to assume that if you read/write slash fanfic, you're probably pro-LGBT and mostly likely unhappy with the result of this election cycle. It's pretty damn depressing. If it's feeling like too much, though, know that you're not alone. The world is not ending. And the National Suicide Hotline in the US is 1-800-273-8255, if that will help you.
> 
> Please please please - take care of you. The country can wait.


End file.
